With My Body, I Thee Worship
by cattyk8
Summary: Truth be told, Logan had not been enamored with the idea of honeymooning in Sedona. Not that it wasn't a perfectly nice place. It's just that, in his many imaginings of honeymooning with Veronica Mars as his wife, he'd never, for the life of him, ever considered Arizona. A honeymoon fic written for the "Sedona Is for LoVers" collection on AO3.


**With My Body, I Thee Worship  
****by ****cattyk8**

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**Summary:**

Truth be told, Logan had not been enamored with the idea of honeymooning in Sedona. Not that it wasn't a perfectly nice place. It's just that, in his many imaginings of honeymooning with Veronica Mars as his wife, he'd never, for the life of him, ever considered Arizona.

But she'd let him plan and pay for the wedding on the condition he'd let her do the same for the honeymoon, so it was time to shut up and cowboy up—perhaps literally.

(Or, in which Logan and Veronica have their first session of married sex, and it doesn't actually matter where they're having their honeymoon.)

A honeymoon fic written for the "Sedona Is for LoVers" collection on AO3.

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**Author's Note:**

_I have not seen season 4. I may never. So I have no idea why Sedona. Ergo, I have no story in this. Just sex. Be forewarned. It could be after the movie or the books or season 4; I don't really know or care about timelines. Also, this is unbeta-read and basically my first draft, but I was late posting it, so I went with the "do or die" route. Feel free to let me know about any flub-ups. Also, the cover for this fic was made by the amazing MarshmellowBobcat._

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Truth be told, Logan had _not_ been enamored with the idea of honeymooning in Sedona. Not that it wasn't a perfectly nice place. It's just that, in his many imaginings of honeymooning with Veronica Mars as his wife, he'd never, for the life of him, ever considered Arizona.

But she'd let him plan and pay for the wedding on the condition he'd let her do the same for the honeymoon, so it was time to shut up and cowboy up—perhaps literally.

Sadly, his hints that he had enough frequent flier miles to take them to Paris or Dubai or even Australia if she wanted to go there—and that wasn't even counting free rides on military planes if there were spare seats for them—had gone ignored. Still, he realized, he had few plans that existed beyond a hotel room for the days following their wedding, so while he'd have liked a view of the City of Lights outside his window, the only view he really cared about would've been of his naked wife sprawled on a bed that wouldn't collapse if he fucked her into the next week.

Despite his misgivings, he had to admit as they drove into Sedona that the town was picturesque. And he grinned when they walked into the lobby of the resort and spa where she'd booked a suite for them. She'd gone all out, it seemed.

Their suite boasted a cozy living area and a large balcony with a prime view of one of the iconic red-rock buttes the town was known for. But what had Logan (and little Logan) standing at attention as Veronica tipped the bellboy and closed the door behind him was the king-sized bed and the king-sized tub in the bathroom that overlooked the same view.

"So what do you think?" Veronica asked, following him into the bedroom. "I know you weren't too excited about honeymooning in Sedona, but—"

She squeaked as he picked her up, and as his head descended, she wrapped her arms around his neck and met his lips with her own. He kissed her hungrily, and she returned the sentiment, hooking her legs around his hips and clinging like a vine.

She ripped the buttons off his shirt as her hands scrabbled to make contact with his skin, and memory flashed back for a moment to another shirt she'd ruined not too long ago, when they'd first reunited after nine years apart. But while that moment had been full of desperation borne out of uncertain circumstances with moments of hesitation because they'd had to relearn each other all over again, this one was no less needful but filled with a sense of homecoming and a blinding, chest-bursting joy to be alive and together and _married_.

She was his, finally.

And he was hers.

He laid her on the bed, surprised by his own gentleness. He regretted, a little, that she'd insisted on changing into jeans and a shirt before coming here. But they'd driven six and a half hours, and there was no way she would've been comfortable doing that in a wedding dress, even though he'd been at the wheel.

She sat up and drew her shirt up and off, leaving her in a bra and jeans. She'd already kicked her shoes off. She reached for the clasp on her bra, but he shook his head. "Let me," he said, drinking in her face as she nodded shyly. That she could still be shy with him, after all this time, charmed him to no end. He kissed her again, reaching behind her to unclasp her bra, drawing the straps down then tossing it aside.

He peppered her jaw with kisses, moving his mouth to the spot just behind her ear that never failed to drive her wild. It had been _his_ spot to kiss her, even when they'd been sixteen and clueless about how relationships were supposed to work, and he kissed her there now, because it was familiar and intimate and the way it made her shiver always made him smile.

Her breasts pressed against his chest, and he let her push his shirt down his arms, moving his own hands to dance up her hips, trace the sides of her torso, and grasp firmly at her breasts as his mouth trailed down her neck to latch onto one taut nipple.

A flick of his tongue made her gasp, and he mimicked the gesture with his fingers on her other breast.

A small hand gripped the hair at the back of his head, while its partner roved his back, kneading, squeezing. He could feel her heart pounding in her chest, which heaved and quivered as he used mouth and fingers to worship her breasts.

Then his hand strayed downward, over the soft silk of her belly, to the button of her jeans. She hissed, "Yes," and that was all the encouragement he needed to flick it open, then take the tab of the zipper and draw it down. He drew back, hands on her hips, and she lifted her hips in silent command. He wasn't foolish enough to disobey.

He hooked fingers and thumbs in the waistband of her jeans and underwear and drew them both down and then off, leaving her naked. She lay back in the bed, blue eyes dark with want, her whole body pliant with need and welcome.

She was his dream, his goddess, his _wife_.

He knelt to worship her.

She breathed his name as he pulled her hips to the edge of the bed, laid her legs on his shoulders. And then he put his mouth to the moist center of her heat and in moments his name was a small scream of benediction.

But Veronica was no pliant goddess, content with his adulation. Soon she was sitting up, sliding her knees from his shoulders and replacing them with her hands, pulling him toward her as she pushed his shirt off and then attacked his own jeans.

He toed off his shoes, helped her get him naked. Gasped her name when she grasped the length of him in both of those small, competent hands.

Then her arms were around him, and he was sprawled over her on the bed with her arching up to him, the words, "Logan, _please_," spilling from her lips as her eyes were wide and dark and hot with wanting him.

It made him feel a little like a god too.

But he was her supplicant, always, and he longed to see as much of her as he could as they came together, something that wasn't possible in the position they were in. So he held her to him and rolled them.

It must have been fate, for it was certainly not any deliberate positioning on his part, but as she arched over him, a shaft of sunlight from the window hit her just so that she was washed in gold, from the top of her head to every inch of her California-kissed skin. Love seemed to explode inside him, crashing against the inside of his ribcage. And then she moved, pressing the wet heat of herself to his hard length, and then lust was ablaze inside him as well.

And then she took him inside of her body and it was like he had sunk into the surface of the sun itself.

What followed was a blur of rocking hips and joined hands and gasped names.

The sex between them had always been hot, but this was a blazing firestorm, and dear god, how was it that he was married to this woman made of sunlight and smirks and promises?

She called out his name hoarsely, and everything that was _her_ seemed to hold everything that was _him_ in that moment. He shouted her name, or maybe it was a prayer—or maybe they were the same thing—and the world went supernova.

Later, much later, she stirred. Laid one palm on his chest, the other on top of it, and then rested her chin on her knuckles as she grinned at him, just a little dazedly.

"That was some ride, Echolls."

Her voice was hoarse, and some part of his Neanderthal brain wanted to beat at his chest with the knowledge that he was the cause. Fortunately, she was lying on his chest, and he was too boneless to make the effort.

When he just stared at her, smiling stupidly, she tilted her head. "You okay there, hubby?"

The word only made his smile wider, stupider. But he managed to speak. "Yuh," he said, intelligently.

She rolled her eyes at him, then started to roll off of him. And then grimaced because they were sticky and even though he was well into his thirties and no longer a teenage boy, the feel of being still inside her had him hardening again.

"Oof," she said, as she landed on her back on the bed.

He grunted in agreement.

She was looking at his erection. Well, half-erection. "Guess you'll be ready for round two pretty soon, huh, husband of mine?"

That she'd called him that twice, when he'd yet to let the word _wife_ leave his lips for fear she'd go on some kind of feminist diatribe, did things to his insides. And his not-so-insides. He saw her smirk when she noticed his erection was no longer a thing of halves.

God, he loved this woman.

"How about we give that tub a whirl?" she suggested, nodding toward the feature he'd noticed earlier, when he'd first walked into the bedroom.

And damned if he didn't worship her body, but he abso-fucking-lutely adored her mind.


End file.
